


terpischore sits with her lyre

by Still_sleepless



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst, Dancer! San, Dancer! Yunho, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Magic, Modern Setting Retelling of Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sad, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_sleepless/pseuds/Still_sleepless
Summary: Mistakes are what make us. One mistake is all it took to break us.>Coming of age in a campus dance studio isn't ideal. Just ask San.





	1. they call this a prologue

**Author's Note:**

> aka: what happens when I try to write for my Yunsang fic. inspired by today's log of when Sanho dance with each other during the dazed photoshoot because I get inspired by weird things apparently. the next chapter will have an actual plot with more words so look forward to it.

In a vast room somewhere on the highest mountains made of shells and sweet smells there sits nine muses on thrones that blink in and out of existence.

On the furthest throne, Terpischore sits with her lyre and watches over a soft boy constructed out of fluid limbs and listens to the somber melody in his soul.

She watches and laughs. 

(they all dance. they all dance in delight).

* * *

If humans had the ability of flight then San thinks we'd look a lot like Yunho. He's airborne, momentum from his legs pushing him up like a springboard. He flies through the air and for a second San's heart is leaping too, held in the palm of Yunho's outstretched hands. Then he's landing with ease, back straightening and grin breaking out like the first dawn after winter ends.

San knows he's in too deep. Knows it by how his heart sings every time Yunho smiles in that way - even when it's not directed at him.

And if this has a bad ending, then maybe that's alright. Because San would take everything and more just for this feeling. He's thinking this as he gets up to showcase his piece, going through the motions with an acute sense of pressure from Yunho following his movements.

The applause startles him when he realises he's already finished and he hurriedly bows before once again sitting down.

San is crushing on Yunho.

Before the year is over, he'll be completely and irrevocably in love. He doesn't know that yet, though. 

And if this has a bad ending then maybe it will all be worth it. Hopefully. 


	2. calliope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> epic poetry turns even the harshest of truths tender.

Fall freezes over in October, light retracting through the hanging black ice and hitting San in the midpoint of his collarbone, passing through skin into the dense bones that lays underneath. He shivers during dance moves, a simple turn spins on and on until he's dizzy from the cold and the blur of motion that sets something slight behind his eyes. 

He knows it's not the cold that's got him feeling this way, not when the studio is blessed with the luxury of heated floors. _No_ , San is in a rut. His creativity has been sapped from his fingertips and he can't seem to snap out of it. 

Across the room there's the jolt of metal on metal as Wooyoung slips in before standing stock-still. He tuts and surveys the scattering of papers that rest at San's feet. Hedging forward he crouches and picks one up, fingers gentle as they follow the lines of choreography. 

San huffs and sits up straight, knees folded up to his chest and chin balanced upon them. "Go on. You can say it." He says, chopped up words rumbling and fumbling as he bites the dead skin on his lip off. 

"These have... _potential_." Wooyoung says slowly, not looking up despite San's steady gaze. He's frowning and it plays out like a half-malformed daydream, a current of blood running in heated pulses through San's arteries and screaming protests of _you're not good enough. You were never good enou-_

"Really," it all falls into the background, fading into wisps of barely-there smoke lapping at the edges of San's consciousness when Wooyoung lets a hand fall easily across his shoulders, "I think this can go somewhere." And it's not enough to quiet the thoughts, could never heal the rift that has taken years to grow somewhere inside San. But it makes him smile regardless.

"Thanks Wooyoung." And he scrambles to his feet; fatigue forgotten in his haste to move and to create something that might mean something, even if it only means something to Wooyoung. 

Steps turn into art. Arms cut figure eights through the air and San feels the crooked corners of his heart grow and expand to accommodate the warmth that he feels every time he lets the music sink into his skin. Wooyoung has shuffled to the perimeter of the studio, arms folded and eyes critical as he studiously appraises the lines of San's form. "One, two, three", he counts off the beats and even without looking, San knows his fingers are twitching, almost aching to follow along.

The ceiling spins when Wooyoung applauds, cheering coming from an audience of one and it's enough to make San laugh, big and bold and tired. Tired but happy. It's like that as they leave, both of them falling into step with each other and taking long strides that quicken the more their hunger grows. "You're buying, by the way." Wooyoung says, looking over the menu of the cheap hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eyes busily scanning for the most expensive meat.

It barely registers, San's thoughts adrift far from reality. Wooyoung frowns, snapping his fingers twice before San regains a shot of focus. "I heard you," he says, flicking the menu away before resting his elbows on the table jovially, eyes round and glistening from the chill. 

It's not until halfway through their meal that Wooyoung decides to spook him, all relaxed and satisfied. "So, what's the story with lover boy?" And if this was a teen rom-com then San might spit out his drink but instead he takes his time and reaches over to pinch Wooyoung hard. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Looking around suspiciously for anyone whom they might know, San maintains an impressive poker face and feels a sense of uncalled for pride. 

He opens his eyes in irritation when he hears a crude scoff and notices Wooyoung's lazy grin. "Oh, c'mon. Hot upperclassman doesn't ring a bell? Dancing extraordinaire? How about tall motherfucker? _Or_ if we're beating around the bush then I might as well say Jeong Yun-" He yelps as San stands and clamps a hand over his mouth. 

"Okay." San forces out through clenched teeth. "I get your point. So, please shut the fuck up." And after a moment of deliberation he reluctantly removes his hand in slow movements and sits back down. Wooyoung somehow manages to look even cockier than usual which, quite frankly, shouldn't be possible. 

"Relax. It's not like he's here." Swiftly, San delivers a kick to his shin under the table and takes another sip of his water. The room has somehow shrunk, walls moving in and constricting San to the point where he wants to run. 

Then Wooyoung smiles, fragile and fresh, the creases around his eyes deepening momentarily. "He doesn't deserve you anyways." San grows flustered, flushed cheeks blooming in rose hues. He doesn't, San agrees, but not for the reasons Wooyoung is implying. 

It's no secret that Yunho is highly sought after, by many, many people. San can't keep up with that. Tearing at the corner of a napkin, San ruminates the pointless of this cycle, the rejection he feels from someone who knows nothing of him. "Let's go."

Wooyoung gets up without a second thought, emptying notes from his wallet onto the table and looks up. "Okay."

And then they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof this is so short. I'm sorry.


End file.
